A man from the adjacent table whistles. Whether he does it because he’s buying Bina’s everything-is-good act or because he’s too drunk to know any better is unclear. But his whistle leads to another one, then a stream of cheers from a table closer to the dance floor.

Bina walks toward her friend. But Anita shifts her chair so it’s completely turned away from Bina, which is how she stays for the rest of the reception.

Thirteen

Natasha

You’re up!”

Natasha gulps. “Me? Already?”

“Yep. It’s now or never. Go!” Alexis Diaz pumps her fists in a gesture of enthusiasm. “You’ve gotta help Chris move to the next thing!”

Nine eager students face Natasha, including Chris, whose burly six-foot-two frame is frozen in a running pose. It’s up to Natasha to continue the skit. She prepares to give her best charming laugh but instead lets out a violent cough.

She was presumptuous to think she could just show up and know what to do in an improv class. Despite how impulsive she can be, something about having to think creatively in the moment makes her clam up.

But she has to try. She has to show Alexis Diaz she’s capable. This class is all she has to show for her comedy right now. Well, the class and the ten views she has on her YouTube channel from the performance Anuj recorded. The performance that apparently wasn’t good enough to get Natasha to the next round of the comedy competition. She can still hear the stupid, monotonous voice of the dude who called her and told her, more or less, that she isn’t good enough.

She reminds herself that like she and Zack recently discussed, rejection is always part of the creative process. And she should be proud of herself. She got out of bed the first time her alarm went off, wore something other than sweatpants, ran a comb through her thick, curly hair, and made it here. She’s excited. She’s determined. She’s . . . tired.

The thing is, she was supposed to be doing more by now. Dozens of people should be laughing at her jokes. Mom and Dad should be regretting telling her she made the wrong choice. Karan should be texting her that he knew she’d make it.

In the two weeks since the Midtown Comedy Center informed her that she did not make it into the competition, she doesn’t know where her days go. The hours seem to be comprised of nothing productive, just oscillating bursts of panic and hope. Panic: none of the other Atlanta comedy clubs with open mic spots have availability. Hope: she’s written a few more pages in her notebook that may actually be good. Panic: it’s harder to stay awake throughout the day without anything tangible to hold on to. Hope: Alexis seems to like her already.